Green Kills

by Avi Domoshevizki

  “And what was the previous offer?”

  “Four hundred million dollars.”

  “No wonder Christian objected. The moment we resolve the problems and go on the market with a stable and reliable product, and I’m sure even your friend is convinced we’ll be able to solve the problems eventually, otherwise he wouldn’t be willing to pay a single dime for the company, we’ll earn more than that amount as early as the second year of revenues. And now you say they’re offering even less? I’ll talk to him, but the chances I’ll agree to the deal are slim.”

  “We’ve got two dead patients whose bodies are still warm, a CEO who committed suicide, and you’re acting like you’re holding the goose that laid the golden eggs.” David raised his voice in frustration. “Unless you come to your senses, we’ll end up with no company at all. Sometimes you need to know when to let go and make sure that at least the money we’ve invested doesn’t go down the drain.”

  “I’ll talk to the other investors. If they all want to sell at any price, I’ll close the deal with Robert. If they don’t, I’ll take my chances and continue to try and build a company that’ll yield us much higher profits in the future.”

  “You’re acting like a lion, king of the financial world, while in actuality, you’re nothing but a stubborn mule who won’t take advice from anyone,” David roared.

  “You’re not the first to call me a mule, but my stubbornness has brought me all my accomplishments in life.”

  “And now it’ll ruin you, and you’ll be dragging us down with you. I’m closer than ever to throwing you out of your job and giving back all responsibilities to Henry, who — unlike you — would’ve closed the deal in an instant.”

  “Why don’t you do that?” Ronnie reacted coldly. “Although I think neither you nor Henry would especially like to dirty your manicured hands in the mess that’s been created. It’s much easier to just sit in the office and criticize me —”

  “Ronnie…” David began, but Ronnie didn’t allow him to speak.

  “I thought we agreed to work in full cooperation during our last meeting. I guess I was wrong. Because I’m tired of watching my back for knives thrown at me from my home court, I expect you to reach a decision about me as soon as possible. The moment you know whether you want me in the picture or not, send me an email letting me know I’m fired, or alternatively, an email authorizing me to be the sole member of the fund in charge of the negotiations with Mentor. Either way, I’m not going to do anything until I receive one of the two emails. Goodbye.”

  Ronnie hung up, leaned back, closed his eyes, and tried to relax, forgetting all about Liah’s message.

  He found David’s sudden urgency to be strange. It was pretty safe to assume a man in his position had undergone more than a few crises throughout his business career and would know how to handle them in a calmer, more professional way. Something else is hiding behind this behavior, he thought. Perhaps it’s that we’re in the middle of raising money for the fund, and a resounding failure at the wrong time might just ruin it all. On the other hand, one would expect him to understand we must work as a team and not allow pressure to hinder us from making the right decisions. Come to think of it, why doesn’t he fire me and take the task of selling the company upon himself, or give Henry that responsibility? What’s the risk involved with the position I’m holding? Why are they allowing me to lead the process even though they think the road I’m taking is the wrong one?

  Traffic was moving slowly, and even the taxi driver gave up his maneuvering attempts and allowed the vehicle to crawl with desperation toward the Brooklyn Bridge. The phone rang. Ronnie glanced at the screen. The call came from an unlisted number.

  “Ronnie Saar,” he answered in an official tone.

  “Hello, my name is Sinead Clark, and I'm Robert Brown’s personal assistant. Mr. Brown is the CEO of Mentor Pharmaceuticals and he’d like to speak with you. Can I transfer the call?”

  “I’m sorry, Sinead, I’m very busy at the moment. When I have a minute, I’ll ask Evelyn for your phone number and will gladly get back to Robert.”

  The surprised secretary grew quiet, then whispered something away from the receiver. “Mr. Brown says the conversation will be brief and asks to speak with you now,” she said hesitantly.

  “Unfortunately, I’m busy now with other people and need to hang up right now. Please apologize on my behalf. Either David or myself will get back to you shortly.” Ronnie couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the surprised expression on the taxi driver’s face reflected in the mirror. Either I’ve just made the mistake of a lifetime, or I’ve forced David to act. Obviously, it’s no coincidence that right after I asked David to send me an email clearly defining my status, Robert gives me a call. For the first time in days, Ronnie felt back in control. I’ve finally managed to rock the boat. Now let’s wait and see how everyone reacts…

  The crawling movement of the traffic soon turned into a complete standstill. Ronnie decided to try and call Gadi again. To his surprise, his call was answered after a single ring.

  “Ronnie, you’re a pain in the ass. Stop calling me so many times. I’ll get back to you when I can.” Gadi hung up. Ronnie redialed, but reached voicemail again. He stared at the phone, frustrated, when a message bearing Gadi’s number came in: What you don’t know can’t hurt you. Trust me.

  Ronnie quickly typed: I need to update you with recent developments. Two patients have died. Christian’s case was closed for lack of evidence. I desperately need your help. Call me.

  Wow. Looking for a quiet spot and getting back to you. Came the answer and with it, another small grace, the traffic began to flow again.

  A moment later, the phone rang. “Talk. What’s going on?” Gadi opened, ignoring the need to explain his disappearance.

  For the next ten minutes, Ronnie detailed all that’d happened to him since they’d parted ways. He described in great detail his conversation with the police detectives, not forgetting to mention the dead ends they’d reached when they’d checked the origin of the telephone calls Christian had received the night of his death and the call Christian had made to his wife. Then he moved on and told Gadi about the two patients who’d died on the operating table and about the strange coincidence involving both families’ refusal for an autopsy.

  “Something is rotten here,” Gadi remarked in his usual picturesque manner. “It may be a shot in the dark, but I think pretty soon I’ll be able to see the whole picture. Give me a day or two to check, and I’ll get back to you. Now excuse me, I need to go work for you. Take care of Liah.”

  “Liah?” Ronnie asked with surprise.

  The telephone in his hand went silent. He finally remembered and called Liah, but his call went straight to voicemail.

  Chapter 23

  New York, October 22, 2013, 5:05 PM

  As soon as he neared the family’s address in Borough Park, he saw hundreds of black-clad mourners filling the street. Ronnie asked the cab driver to stop and got out two blocks from the house. He stepped into a glatt kosher grocery store and said, in response to the curious stare of the shop owner, “Shalom. Perhaps you could tell me where I can buy a yarmulke. I’m on my way to offer my condolences.”

  “Is the gentleman Jewish?” The bearded man gave him an inquisitive look.

  “Yes, from Israel.”

  “And the gentleman doesn’t have a yarmulke?” he asked in a reproachful tone.

  “I have one, but I came here as soon as I heard about his passing. Could you please tell me where I can buy one?” Ronnie repeated the question, trying to keep the conversation short.

  “Please, take one of mine.” The shopkeeper handed him a shiny, black satin yarmulke, still gazing at Ronnie suspiciously. “And the gentleman knows the deceased from where exactly?” The interrogation continued.

  “It’s a long story. Thanks for the yarmulke. I’ll bring it back to you when I leave.”

  “Keep it, and go to shul when you get back home.” The grocer
cancelled Ronnie’s suggestion with a wave of his hand.

  Suspicious stares accompanied Ronnie as he approached the home of the bereaved family. The men who began to gather for the evening prayer, ceased their preparations and surrounded Ronnie.

  “Can I help you, sir?” one of the younger men addressed him, blocking his way.

  “I came to perform the mitzvah of paying the mourning family a visit and offering my condolences,” Ronnie answered in Hebrew then immediately said in English, “I’d appreciate it if you could direct me to where the family is sitting shiva.”

  “Why don’t you join us for the evening prayer first” — a prayer book was shoved into his hands — “then you’re welcome to go into the house.” The men turned back and Ronnie joined them, thankful that he had made it a habit to visit the synagogue on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.

  The murmur of prayer filled the street. The sea of people in black began to move in rhythmic waves, as if obeying the instructions of an invisible choreographer. Ronnie looked around him and felt a pang of envy in his heart. He’d never experienced such a sense of faith, deep and devoid of doubt. He returned his eyes to the prayer book, but his thoughts turned to his own personal prayer. Then the evening prayer was completed and the street began to empty out.

  “Follow me.” A black-clothed youth whose side-locks curled all the way down to his shoulders turned to Ronnie then walked with him to a narrow apartment in one of the nearby buildings. A young woman sat on a mattress, surrounded by relatives and friends.

  “I’m sorry for your loss. May you never know sorrow again.” Ronnie lowered his head.

  “Thank you. And who are you, sir?”

  “My name is Ronnie Saar and I’m from Israel. The company I’m chairing was involved with the operation during which your husband passed away, may he rest in peace, and because the tragic outcome of the operation bothers me deeply, I wanted to come and pay my condolences.”

  She stared at him in astonishment.

  “It must be a great loss,” Ronnie said with genuine sympathy, “such a young man…”

  “And healthy as an ox” — a tear rolled down her cheek — “if it wasn’t for the accident, he wouldn’t have seen a doctor for many more years. His leg broke in four different places in a car accident. It ruined our lives and our livelihood, now it’s taken him as well.”

  “Several operations are normally performed to heal such fractures…”

  “Right. The first operation didn’t solve all the problems. My Abremale felt very bad for not being able to go to work, that’s why we pressured the hospital to schedule an earlier date for the operation. We were so happy when they called us a week ago and let us know there was a time slot available earlier than anticipated. We didn’t know how to thank that nice secretary enough. And now he’s dead.” The widow broke into a fit of crying, and her children echoed her and began to cry as well. “He was such a healthy man…and now God has taken him away.” She covered her face with a handkerchief, while her youngest son hugged her tightly.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. May the Lord give you comfort,” Ronnie mumbled, lowered his head and retreated. He sat in the back of the room for a while, nodding politely to the people coming and going. About half an hour later, he left.

  Only when he was far from the mourners’ house, did he remove the yarmulke from his head and immediately called Brian. “Do you have the details of our guy at Jefferson Hospital in Philadelphia, where the second operation was performed?” Ronnie spoke as soon as Brian answered the phone.

  “Yes. Hold on,” came the answer, and the line went silent for a moment. “Are you writing this down?” Brian was back on the line and dictated the telephone number to Ronnie. “His name is Moses Lynne, and I’m sure he’ll be happy to help.”

  “Thanks.” Ronnie disconnected the call and dialed the number he’d just received.

  “Moses.” Ronnie heard a youthful voice.

  “Hi, Moses. This is Ronnie Saar, TDO’s chairman. Can I ask you to check something for me?”

  “I’ll be delighted to, Mr. Saar.”

  “I’m sure you know which patient I’m calling about. Please check when his surgery was scheduled and if the patient had a problematic medical history. Call me back at this number.”

  “Mr. Saar, I’ll check when the surgery was scheduled right away, but regarding the medical file, I’m afraid the hospital is keeping that secret, and all my attempts in recent days to get information were met by a wall of silence. What I can tell you though, is that during the discussion that preceded the operation, we asked the orthopedics department’s manager to choose, at least for the current stage of the clinical trials, only patients with no medical history of heart conditions, diabetes, etc. The department chair promised us this was in line with the hospital’s best interests. This is a university hospital, and they intended to publish an article about the operation. I believe they kept their word.”

  “OK. I understand. I’ll be waiting for your call. I’d like it if you could do it right away. It’s really urgent,” Ronnie said while going down the subway stairs. The ride on the number 4 express was uneventful, and when he climbed up the escalator leading to 23rd Street, a new message was already waiting on his phone: I tried to call you, but there wasn’t any answer. The knee replacement operation was scheduled about two months ago. Couldn’t find anything unusual in the process of scheduling the operation date. Hope this is the answer you were looking for. Moses.

  Another dead end. Ronnie glanced at his watch. It was too late to return to the hospital or the office. He turned and began to walk toward his apartment.

  He was met with darkness when he opened the door. He shuffled toward the kitchen, took out a Sam Adams bottle from the refrigerator and threw himself on the living room sofa. Then he saw a yellow note pasted on the television screen: I guess you were right. My Crohn’s has raised its ugly head again. I’ve been taken to Presbyterian Hospital. Love you. Liah.

  He hurried off the sofa, turned around, opened the door, and ran downstairs, praying he’d catch a cab quickly.

  Chapter 24

  New York, October 23, 2013, 7:45 AM

  Ronnie opened his eyes, glanced at his watch, and quickly sat up when he saw where the hands were pointing. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d slept so late. He’d spent most of the night next to Liah’s bed. Last night, when he had reached her hospital room, she seemed like a small pale dot in the middle of a white hospital sheet. She was in a daze from all the medication she’d received, and they hardly spoke. The doctor who arrived after midnight to follow up with her asked to speak with him outside the room.

  “We gave her a cortisone shot and some sedatives to relieve the symptoms during the night,” he reported. “It’s important for us to know whether Liah has undergone stressful events lately. Crohn’s is a disease suffered by perfectionists. When something ruins their plans, they react with stress, which in turn awakens the Crohn’s demon from its sleep.”

  “Not as far as I know. The only thing I can think of that may have caused some stress is that I proposed to her nine days ago,” mumbled Ronnie.

  “I don’t think that’s the reason, unless, and pardon me for saying so, she’s not really interested in getting married. If that’s not the case, this may be the first time someone has been hospitalized for being too happy. All right, if you think of anything, please update the medical staff. I suggest you go home and get a good night’s sleep. With the amount of narcotics she’s been given, I don’t think Dr. Sheinbaum will be waking up anytime soon,” he summed up.

  Ronnie took the doctor’s advice and went home. He arrived at two o'clock and spent the rest of the night in his own bed.

  He called the hospital and was told no visits were allowed before the afternoon; it didn’t matter that Dr. Sheinbaum was a staff member. He hung up, frustrated and dragged himself to the kitchen to make his morning coffee. Not really interested in the dubious pleasure of taking the subway in rush hour, he de
cided to stay and begin his workday from home. He turned on his computer and discovered an incoming email marked as “urgent” from David. His lips curled into a smile as he opened the email and read it.

  “Per your request, attached please find a letter authorizing you to be the fund’s sole negotiator of TDO’s sale. Below, you’ll find Robert’s phone number. Now cut it out with your games. Call him immediately and close the deal before he changes his mind.”

  Ronnie printed the letter, wrote down the telephone number that appeared at the end of the message, closed the computer, shut his eyes, and recalled a sentence his father, an amateur historian, told him Napoleon had once said to his valet: “Dress me slowly because I am in a hurry.” Sometimes, you need to take your time. He dressed leisurely and went down to Kumar’s deli to collect his paper bag. When he returned, he set the table and put out only half the contents of the bag. Liah’s absence filled him with a sense of gloom. He slowly sipped the coffee he’d prepared himself while dialing the telephone number he’d received, and waited.

  “Good morning, Robert Brown’s office. Sinead speaking, how may I help you?”

  “This is Ronnie Saar, may I speak with Robert?”

  “Just a moment, please.”

  “Hello, Mr. Saar. You’re an extremely busy person,” the authoritative voice of Robert rumbled.

  “Hello, Mr. Brown. I apologize for not getting back to you last night, but there were a few things I needed to finalize in order to conduct the negotiations with you in good faith. Let’s get to the matter at hand. I understand from David that Mentor is interested in acquiring TDO. I’d love to meet with you to discuss the details, of course. I’m available today and tomorrow, and I’m willing to fly to Chicago immediately, assuming your schedule allows it, of course.”

  “Unfortunately, I’m not available for an appointment either today or tomorrow,” came the answer Ronnie had expected.